


when the night falls down (Keith is drunk and Lance is stupid)

by ViolentlyRed



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Comfort, I wrote this after a bad night and a bad morning, You Decide, also could totally be brotherly, could be read as klance, i was drunk yall, im gay af so thats what i think, its canon, keith is so fucking drunk, klance, lance is the party mom, lance is very nice to him and take care of bby, love you guys, stay safe, throwing up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-28 21:42:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13912773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolentlyRed/pseuds/ViolentlyRed
Summary: "Are... are you drunk?" Lance asks and Keith feels very loose.He wipes his running nose on the back of his sleeve and sniffles. "No," Keith mumbles, although it's useless because yeah, he's drunk.Or, Keith drinks and Lance cares and they do it together.





	when the night falls down (Keith is drunk and Lance is stupid)

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: f bombs, Keith is a little shit. Also, he's drunk as fuck. 
> 
> I got real sloshed and woke up and hammered this bad boy out. 
> 
> Enjoy!

"Are... are you drunk?" Lance asks and Keith feels very loose.

He wipes his running nose on the back of his sleeve and sniffles. "No," Keith mumbles, although it's useless because yeah, he's drunk.

Lance picks up the bottle on his bed, wrinkling his nose. "Nunvil? Jesus, Keith, seriously? This stuff is like battery acid, man."

"Tastes better when you- as you go on. As you drink more." Keith picks his head up off the wall and lets it bang back down, just to. Y'know. Make sure it's there.

He feels like he's melting. It's good. It's really nice, actually. He's not worrying about anything. He feels okay, for once, the world swims and he feels loose and happy and funny. Lance is giving him a strange look. Keith laughs.

"You okay?" Lance asks, and he pats Keith's face. His fingers are cold.

"'m feelin' great. How're you?" Keith asks. His stomach churns.

Lance picks up the bottle from where he set it on the table and inspects it. The beautiful, emerald liquor sparkles and shimmers in the beautiful glass bottle. Keith loves it. It's very nice. "Was this full when you started?"

Keith is pretty sure Lance already knows the answer. He hiccups and giggles, tries to grab the bottle.

"I think you've had enough, bud. You're done." Lance puts the bottle back on the table, out of Keith's reach. Keith lets his loose, limp noodle arms fall into his lap.

Lance stands up and gets the small trash can from across the room. He places it next to the bed, Keith watches him with swimming vision. He giggles again. Lance sits on the edge of the bed and frowns at Keith.

Keith doesn't know why, because everything's so funny.

"What were you trying to accomplish here?" Lance asks.

Keith shrugs. His tongue doesn't work that good. "I wanned to... not remember for a minute," he says slowly. He tries to annunciate, just to see if he can. "Was tryin' to forget," he grins. He hiccups. His face is hot. He turns his head to press his cheek to the wall, but he ends up falling sideways until Lance grabs his bicep and jerks him upright.

"Whoah there, buddy. You good?"

Keith doesn't know how to answer that. Lance yanked him up too fast and the world is spinning and up and down, but it's alright. "Yeah. Yeah, mm... I'm good," he says, lips stretching and rubbery. He brings a hand up and almost pokes himself in the eye, but his lips are still there.

Lance grabs his hand and sets it back in his lap. "Hey, no, lets  _not_  do that right now, okay? You're gonna scratch your eyes out."

Keith wants to take his gloves off and his jacket off. He tries to move his arms, but they won't listen. He sighs.

Lance looks at him with his stupid eyes. "What?"

"My arms," Keith says helplessly. He picks them up and lets them bounce off the mattress. "They're not listening." He brings them up again to pull at his collar. Everything's hot.

Lance's fingers are cool against his skin. He knocks Keith's hands away and grasps the collar. "You want it off?"

Keith hums and nods. His chin knocks against his chest.

Lance manages to wrangle him out of his jacket, but he's pretty gentle. He gets close to Keith and pulls it off of his shoulders, and he smells like soap and good. Keith lets his forehead stop on Lance's shoulder for a second. His eyelids are so heavy.

"No sleeping yet," Lance says. He finishes taking Keith's jacket off and pulling his arms out of the sleeves. Keith keeps his eyes closed.

Lance's neck is warm and the tip of Keith's nose is cold. He can feel the heat coming off of Lance's skin, so fuck, he pokes his nose against the warm skin. _Warm cold. Warm nose, cold neck. Neck, cold. Nose, cold_. He doesn't know what the fuck is happening. Keith lets his forehead sit on Lance's shoulder there for a second. Just a second, and then he'll go back to the wall. Promise.

Keith feels a hand kind-of hesitantly pat the back of his head. Someone sighs. Lance's voice is soft and loud at the same time. "Keith, man, why don't you just talk to us?"

Keith shrugs one shoulder. "Don' want you to listen. Don' get too close."

Lance sounds like he's talking about something very important. "You can get close to us, you know. We want you to get close to us, we... We all love you, man. You're part of the family."

 _Oh_. Well, damn.

Shit. Keith doesn't know what to say to that. He can't cry, he's too drunk. He rolls his forehead around on Lance's shoulder. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay, I love you too," Keith says.  _Wait, what?_  "Love you guys too, you know. Just can't get close, 's all."

Lance sighs and puts a hand on his back. "I hope you'll talk to me about it one day. You're not gonna remember this tomorrow, but. Just know we're all here. We're all here for you, any time."

That's nice. Keith thinks that's very nice. Warms his heart, makes him sniffly.

And then he thinks of Shiro and starts to panic.

 _Oh fuck_. "Wait," he says a little louder than he should. "Wait, Lance!"

Lance stiffens, Keith probably just yelled in his ear. "What, what is it?"

"Lance,  _please_  don't tell Shiro." Keith's heart starts to beat really fast and fear ices his veins. He pulls away and lets his head wobble but he looks Lance in the eye. "Please. Shiro can't find out about this."

"Okay, alright! Just- chill, man," Lance says, and he grabs Keith's shoulders again. Funny, Keith didn't even notice he was falling.

"No, Lance, I'm serious," Keith says seriously, "you can't tell him. He can't know that I got drunk, he can't know about this or see me like this. He would..." Keith swallows thickly. "He would be really disappointed in me."

Keith feels the tears well up in his eyes before he can stop them. Oh my God, what has he done? Shiro is going to kill him, Shiro will think he's worthless and stupid, Shiro is gonna hate him. He feels his lungs heave faster and faster. Shiro won't talk to him again, Shiro will stop talking to him...

"Okay, alright! Keith, breathe! C'mon, buddy, it's alright, I won't tell anyone," Lance says, holding him in place still.

Keith tries to breathe. It's messy and it doesn't really work but it's the least he can do since Lance is here.

"There you go," Lance encourages. "That's it. I won't tell him, I won't tell anyone, I promise. Scouts honor."

Keith waits a few minutes until he can breathe again. "Okay," he pants. But the thought of Shiro hating him has got tears rolling down his cheeks and  _aw fuck_  -

"Keith, are you crying?"

Keith doesn't know what to do, and he lets a sob out of his chest, and he falls back against Lance's shoulder.

"Buddy," Lance says gently, patting his back again, "You don't have to worry. Keith, I'm not going to tell him. And even if he were to find out, he wouldn't hate you, Keith." Keith can hear the rumble of the words through Lance's body. It's strangely intimate.

He doesn't know what are thoughts and what are words now. "I'm sorry. 'm a disappointment. I'm sorry. I dinnen't... I don't want you t' be disappointed. Are you disappointed?" he asks desperately, because he needs to know, even though he shouldn't actually care because Lance is stupid.

Lance keeps a warm hand on his back. "Keith, I'm not disappointed. You're having a bad night, we all do sometimes. Maybe not to this extent," Lance adds, "but it happens. I just wish you could talk to us instead of drinking yourself half to death alone."

"I'm sorry," Keith mumbles. His head is swimmy, and he thinks it's better if he just keeps his eyes closed. He's swaying, like on a stormy sea. His thoughts are hot and jumbled, mouth dripping words. "Lance, 'm sorry." I'm so sorry.

Lance wraps an arm around Keith, maybe a hug? Keith also thinks he's gonna just kinda fall onto his side, so maybe it's to prevent that? Either way, it's very comforting and he might lean into it. He's too drunk to know.

"Keith." Lance's voice is gravel and velvet. "It's okay. You're okay. I've... I've got you."

That's nice. Keith cries still. He keeps swallowing, his mouth keeps watering.

His stomach flips then and he knows what's going to happen next. Saliva pools in his mouth, oh  _fuck_. He lets out a little whine and tries to push Lance away, and suddenly his face is hanging over a trash can. He lets out a wet belch followed by a few painful dry-heaves and then he spews out sour, bitter alcohol. And tears.

"Oh my god," he whispers between heaves.

"Okay, it's okay," he hears Lance say. Somebody pulls his hair away from his face, holds it behind his head while the other hand rubs his back. How does Lance have so many hands? "It's alright, buddy. Let it out."

Keith spits harshly and almost thinks he's done for a second until he pukes some more. It's disgusting and smells bad and it's uncomfortable. His stomach hurts so bad, he's sweating and shaking and crying. Lance keeps saying soothing things and rubbing his back, but Keith feels so horrible. He chokes and coughs on his own vomit, sobs into the mess. His hands are shaking so bad.

Finally, he finishes. He spits a lot of times and pulls his face away from the garbage can. Lance is standing up, saying he'll be right back. Things go dim. Keith feels himself being gently laid in a horizontal position. Maybe. He's not sure what's up and what's down.

He wakes up to Lance dragging a blessedly cool cloth over his face, wiping it off. "You with me, buddy? That was some pretty impressive hurling there."

"Shuh -" Keith smacks his lips. "Shut the fuck up."

Lance chuckles.

"I'm sorry," Keith moans, eyes closed.

"It's okay, buddy. That's what happens when you drink half your body weight in Altean rat poison." Lance dabs at Keith's neck.

Keith fumbles around until he finds Lance's arm and squeezes it. "Thamnks you, Lance."

Lance stops his dabbing. "It's what friends are for."

Keith lets his head roll back and forth. Somehow he gets upright and pressed against something solid and warm, and he's taking little sips out of a water pouch.

He gets horizontal again and grabs hold of Lances hand. He thinks.

"What?"

Keith cracks an eye open and makes out the tilting picture of Lance. "Stay."

He hears Lance sigh and the bed dips. "Yeah, okay."

Keith takes Lance's hand and lets it flop onto his forehead. Lance kind-of strokes his hair a little bit and Keith passes the fuck out.

-  
  
He wakes up and the world is screaming.

Or maybe his head. Or maybe both.

Nausea presses hard in the back of his mouth and he sloppily stumbles to the bathroom, falling hard on his knees in the shower and throwing up onto the tile. It's orange and gross.

He squints and reaches up with a trembling hand to turn the water on to wash it away, soaking himself in the process. He doesn't know what the fuck is happening, and it hurts to see. He hurts. Everything hurts. It's fucking pouring and he's freezing and the world's on fire. His stomach rolls and he gags. Everything is absolutely disgusting.

"Keith?"

And _holy fuck_  he's never heard anything louder in his life.  _Please. Make it stop_ , his head is screaming. His bones ache and everything is on fire. His hands are shaking against the shower floor. "Oh, my god," he mumbles weakly.

Steady hands lift him up into a sitting position propped against the shower wall. "Whoah, buddy. Take it easy. I've gotcha."

"Please stop talking," Keith whimpers, because it  _HURTS SO FUCKING BAD, OHMYGOD_ -

Hands smooth his hair out of his face. "You okay?" Lance whispers. Keith's eyes are squeezed shut. Everything feels very wrong.

Keith wants to cry his head hurts so bad. He feels like he's getting stabbed, he feels like there should be blood and brains everywhere from his head because it exploded, that's how he feels.

Lance takes his hands. The water that's raining from above and soaking both of them turns warm and Keith feels his muscles relax only slightly. "You're shaking," Lance says quietly. "You're really dehydrated."

And yeah, that's probably partially why Keith feels like utter shit. A pouch of water is pressed to his lips and he rinses his mouth out. "No, drink it. You've gotta drink it," Lance says.

Keith has absolutely no desire to consume anything at all.

Like. At all.

"Small sips," Lance coaxes, and he gets up and the lights dim so that Keith can actually open his eyes a little without fear of searing his goddamn retinas.

Keith tentatively drinks, small sips that turn into large gulps and oh my god, he's so thirsty-

Lance rips it away. "Whoah, easy there, big guy. I said small sips, not gallon-sized swallows."

Keith lets his head hang in the stream of warm water, stares at the tile floor and tries not to throw up again. He feels so terrible, he feels like he's dying, he wants to die. "I want to die."

Lance lays a hand on his shoulder. "You're just hungover, man. Do you remember anything from last night?"

Keith tries to. But he kind of can't remember anything other than little snippets. He knows he threw up, and he cried? And he knows someone-

 _Jesus fucking Christ_.

Lance took care of him.

Keith cried on Lance's shoulder and threw up. And Lance held his hair and told him it was going to be okay.

Keith can't believe it. He'd be more visibly surprised, might even say something, but he feels so gross and fucking exhausted.

"You drank a lot of Nunvil. And then you cried and threw up. In that order," Lance supplies. He kind-of gives Keith this stupid dorky grin that is very kind and super nice, and it makes Keith want to rip his hair out, even though he was very nice. Is very nice. Is... Is being very nice.

"Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?" Lance says, and Keith then realizes that they're both in their clothes still, minus shoes and jackets. Lance hair is plastered to his forehead, and he grins again. Keith wants to fucking shoot himself. His eyes throb.

Lance helps him wash the grossness off of him a little and then throws a towel at him. "I'll be back. Dry off. I'm gonna change your sheets and then I'll be back with clothes."

Keith stands there, _(how the fuck did he get standing?)_  dripping and now cold.

His movements are stiff and wobbly. He peels off his wet clothes and towels off, rubs at his hair a little. He's careful, because he feels like one wrong move could have him ending up in the floor. His head is still screaming.

Clean clothes are tossed in the door and it quickly shuts again, blowing a cool gust of outside air that practically makes Keith's balls dissappear. He ignores the shiver and the goosebumps that spread all over his body as he pulls on clean underwear and sweatpants. Lance was smart enough to give him his favorite black shirt. Keith doesn't know how Lance knew where all of his clothes were, but y'know what, he's a little too hungover to care.

His head is still on red alert, ears ringing. Everything is muddled and dizzy. He's getting very tired and upset now.  _Psh_ , like he wasn't before.

His room looks the exact same as it usually does, but it feels wrong. The Nunvil is gone, thank god, because if Keith honestly even looked at it he'd probably throw up again. Keith leans against the door as Lance finishes pulling the top blankets on the bed. He's in fresh clothes, too, his blue robe and shorts.

Lance walks over and frowns. "Your hands are still shaking. (Keith hadn't even noticed. He is pretty sure he got hit by a truck or something.) You wanna sleep or do you wanna go get something to eat?"

Keith gets a sour taste in his mouth as soon as food is mentioned. "Sleep," he mumbles as he makes his way over to the bed and practically collapses.

Lance pulls the blankets over him and gingerly tucks them around his shoulders. He's such a fucking mom. Keith hates him.

Keith is ready to die. He accepts his death. Sore muscles sink into the crisp, soft, fresh sheets and he presses his face into the pillow. His back hurts.

Lance falters for a second. "Um."

"What. Lance."

"Do you... do you want me to stay?"

It's such a fragile question, though, and  _what the fuck_? Keith freezes.

Lance fumbles. "Sorry. Yeah, I'll just- I'll just go-"

"Fuckin." Keith says. And then he stops a second and thinks about it. And he's such a goddamn mess right now. "Yes," Keith finds himself saying a little softer. The world must be ending. Lance is quiet. Keith's heart beats. "Please?"

The lights turn off and the bed dips and Lance crawls in next to him. Keith shifts so he's facing away from Lance. But that's uncomfortable so he turns back. His head still hurts really fucking bad.

He's dizzy and half asleep when nimble fingers start to weave through his hair.

It's so unexpected that Keith tenses, and the fingers freeze, but then he relaxes and the fingers continue.

Normally, Keith would scream and then stab Lance and then stab himself.

But right now, in the dark and the quiet, with clean sheets and clean clothes, Keith feels very, very small. He feels minimal and stupid and pathetic and alone. And he's actually so glad Lance is here. And he'd never admit that.

He cannot believe how compassionate a person can be. Lance is being so nice to him, and he doesn't even know why. He was so stupid.

The fingers knead and ghost his scalp, and it's so blissful that Keith could cry. Warm thumbs massage his temples. Keith leans into the touch.

Somehow his face ends up pressed into Lance's shoulder. It's familiar and tactile and Keith breaths in soap and warmth and safe... safety. Keith feels safe.

Something blossoms in his chest, in his stomach. There's a lump in his throat, tears prick at his eyelids, Lance pulls him closer.

"Just rest."

Two words, spoken, standing out against the fuzzy darkness like two lightning bolts in a warm, soft, summer thunderstorm. Lance likes the rain, doesn't he?

Keith sinks into thick, peaceful slumber. 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hello there! Long time no write! 
> 
> Title taken from When The Night by St. Lucia, give it a listen. I love it. 
> 
> Poor, drunk keef. I relate. Good Lancey Lance. Love him.
> 
> Feel free to comment and kudos and all that jazz, or if you just like to lurk, that's cool too :)
> 
> I love you 
> 
> until next time, bois


End file.
